


She-Wolves

by Sauronix



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Gen, Gladio Gets Harassed, Sexual Harassment, Supportive Iggy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-30
Updated: 2017-04-30
Packaged: 2018-10-25 23:03:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10774323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sauronix/pseuds/Sauronix
Summary: Written for the following prompt on the kinkmeme:Gladio is sexually harassed by a group of plant ladies in Lestallum. It's awkward af (and scary, he realizes once he's out of it). They're drunk and very forward, and he doesn't want to hit women, but they've cornered him and are touching him and he's trying to make them stop without starting a fight, and people on the street are seeing this happen and a) not helping him (because ~what guy doesn't like female attention?~), and b) laughing at him because they think it's hilarious.It's not hilarious. Gladio's really shaken up by it.





	She-Wolves

**Author's Note:**

> Please don't hate me for writing this, y'all. I wrote it quickly, but I hope I treated the topic with sensitivity.

Bulette shank? _Check._  
  
Garlic? _Check._  
  
Fine Cleigne wheat? _Check._  
  
“Is that everything?” the merchant asks.  
  
“Yeah,” Gladio says, hefting his bag of groceries in one hand as he pays the man with the other. “Thanks.”  
  
He stuffs the list Ignis gave him into his back pocket and heads for the Leville. It’s late now. The streets are dark, the storefronts shuttered. The city’s starting to give itself over to the nightlife. He passes a few bars where smokers stand outside in huddles. A couple of girls in miniskirts totter by in stiletto heels, giggling. He even sees a homeless guy passed out in the gutter down an alley. Besides that, though, this part of the city is deserted. Not that Gladio’s nervous or anything. He’s walked plenty of sketchy streets in his time, and he’s a big dude. Generally, people know better than to fuck with him.  
  
He shifts the bag to his other arm and checks his phone. It’s already 9:57 p.m. There are a couple of texts from Ignis.  
  
**Iggy (6/27, 9:32 PM):** Where are you? Have you gotten lost?  
  
**Iggy (6/27, 9:41 PM):** At this rate, Noct’s going to fall asleep before I can get dinner ready.  
  
He types out a quick response with his thumb.  
  
**Gladiolus (6/27, 9:58 PM):** be there in five  
  
As he slides the phone into the back pocket of his pants, someone lets out a long, lilting whistle behind him. It makes the hair stand up on the back of his neck, but he doesn’t bother turning around. It’s probably some drunk doing what drunks do best, and he’d rather mind his own business anyway.  
  
“Hey, gorgeous!” calls a woman’s voice.  
  
At that, his steps slow, and he glances over his shoulder. Not because he’s vain, but because he’s the only other person in the street.  
  
“Yeah, I’m talking to you!”  
  
He turns fully and finds five women in skimpy dresses swaying down the street toward him. They’re all plant workers. He can tell by their muscular arms and thighs, by the hair cropped close to their heads. Their eyes are heavily ringed with eyeliner. Unconsciously, he clutches his groceries closer to his chest, as if they could slow the quickening beat of his heart.  
  
This is ridiculous. There’s no need to be so damn nervous. They’re just a bunch of women who’ve had a little too much to drink. They’ve probably been boozing since they got off the clock at five.  
  
“You want something?” he asks.  
  
“Just a look at you, honey,” says one of them, a redhead, as they pen him in against the wall. Her eyes scan him up and down, slowly, like she’s picturing him naked. “Couldn’t help but notice how nice your buns look in those leather pants.”  
  
Gladio’s skin crawls. People look at him like he’s a piece of meat all the time, but no one’s ever been this brazen about it before. He hopes he’s never looked at a woman like that. “Thanks, I guess.”  
  
“Where are you off to in such a hurry?”  
  
He nods at the paper bag in his arms. “Running errands for a chef. He gets pissy when I’m gone too long. Gotta get back to him.”  
  
Another of them, a brunette with a smattering of freckles on her cheeks, reaches out and grabs a handful of his ass. He yelps—fucking _yelps_ —and jerks away from her grasp. She grins at him, her tongue trapped playfully between her teeth.  
  
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he demands.  
  
“Oh, come on,” she says, “don’t act like you don’t like it.”  
  
“Well, I fucking don’t,” he snaps.  
  
He might as well be talking to a wall. With the lightning speed of a small rodent, she tugs his jacket open and slides a clammy palm up his chest. Now his adrenaline’s pumping. He tries to pull away, but with the wall behind him, there’s nowhere to go. The others seem to take that as their cue. They all surge up against him, their hands groping everywhere they can reach. One grabs him hard between the legs.  
  
Desperately, he tries to knock her hand away, but another drags his head down and kisses him, shoving her tongue into his mouth.  
  
“Bet he fucks like a bull,” he hears one of them say.  
  
Another giggles. “Let’s find out.”  
  
Shit. He could probably punch his way out of this situation, but it’ll look bad if he lays a beatdown on a bunch of women in an alley. And anyway, he doesn’t like to hurt people unless he absolutely has to. This doesn’t qualify.  
  
It’s not like his life’s in danger, right?  
  
Somehow, he manages to tear his mouth away from the one kissing him, twisting his hips sharply so the hand loses its grip on his crotch. He glances up just in time to see three guys walk past them. Gladio looks at them with pleading eyes, but they just grin and wink at him, and one of them howls “ow-owwww!” through hands cupped around his mouth.  
  
Fuck.  
  
“Don’t be so shy, sugar,” the redhead says against his ear. The heavy scent of whiskey on her breath almost makes him gag. Her hand’s roaming under his jacket again. “We know you want it.”  
  
This time, Gladio shoves her hard. She laughs as she staggers backward, then falls against the wall when her heel breaks. She’s too damn sauced to realize she’s probably twisted her ankle.  
  
“Stay away from me,” he warns. He looks at the others. They’ve each taken a step back, too, their wary eyes trained on him. “I’m not fucking around.”  
  
For a tense moment, he flicks his gaze from one to the next, steeling himself in case they try anything else. They all stare back at him. Finally, the redhead pushes herself off the wall and straightens her dress with angry jerks. She’s scowling at him.  
  
“Come on, girls,” she snarls. “This one’s probably a cocksucker anyway.”  
  
He watches them straggle off down the street, until they disappear around the corner. Only then does he release the breath he was holding. It takes him a minute to realize his fingertips are tingling, his ears ringing.  
  
Shit, he’s _shaking_.  
  
On auto-pilot, he walks back to the Leville like he’s out of sync with his own body. It takes him three tries to fit the key into the door of their hotel room. When he hears the lock click, he shoulders his way inside and slams the door behind him, tossing the torn paper bag on the bed. He flops down next to it, onto his back. He doesn’t even look at Ignis, but he can feel the weight of his gaze.  
  
Ignis clucks at him. “Gladio, where have you been? I’ve been waiting over an hour for those ingredients.”  
  
“Sorry,” Gladio says vaguely. He puts his hands behind his head and frowns up at the ceiling. It all happened in less than three minutes, and he feels fucking used. Like a thing.  
  
Ignis’s face appears, upside-down, in his line of sight. “You have lipstick on your mouth. I can’t believe you sometimes. I send you on a simple errand, and you…” He trails off when Gladio doesn’t acknowledge him. “Are you all right?”  
  
Gladio wipes at his lips and looks at his fingers. They’re smeared in greasy red makeup. He rubs them furiously on his pant leg. “I’m fine.”  
  
“You don’t look it.”  
  
“Some woman stuck her tongue down my throat,” he says, waving a hand. He has to suppress a shudder at the memory. “Grabbed my ass, grabbed my dick.”  
  
“Some woman?” Ignis echoes. “You mean—”  
  
“There were five of them. They came up to me as I was walking home and started grabbing at me.”  
  
“Gladio, that’s—”  
  
“They didn’t do anything else. It’s no big deal. I’m fine.”  
  
The mattress sinks as Ignis sits next to him on the bed, and Gladio spares him a glance. Shit. He’s wearing his Concerned Parent look. “On the contrary, Gladio, it is a big deal. That’s assault.”  
  
Gladio shakes his head and looks away. It wasn’t assault. Assaults are supposed to be violent, and while what happened in the alley wasn’t fucking pleasant by any stretch of the imagination, they didn’t _hurt_ him. “Nah.”  
  
“Would you say the same if they’d been a group of men doing it to a woman?”  
  
That gives him pause. What if it had been Iris? He can’t even bear the thought of something like that happening to her. Not without wanting to punch something again. “I don’t wanna think about it, Iggy. I’ll be okay.”  
  
Ignis looks at him for a long while before placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. “I won’t push the matter. But should you ever want to talk about it, I’m listening.”  
  
Gladio smiles at him. It’s faint, but enough, evidently, to reassure Ignis, because he gets up off the bed with the bag of groceries and goes back to making their dinner. Gladio curls up on the bed and listens to the clatter of dishes and the hiss of bulette steaks frying in the pan. He’s safe here, with Ignis. Ignis understands. Ignis won't laugh at him.

When Noctis and Prompto join them to eat, he almost feels normal again.  
  
Almost.  
  
But not quite.


End file.
